


Reset

by Emma



Series: The Queen's Magicians [19]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha Jones comes to Torchwood and their world will never be the same...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ianto opened the tourist office door a crack and peered out. The mist that had rolled in from the bay in the afternoon had turned into thick fog as the sun went down. He turned on the fog lamp above the door and was about to go back into the office when a voice spoke from beyond the circle of light.  
  
“You must be Ianto Jones.”  
  
The woman stepping towards him was stylish in a blue suit with a pencil skirt and fitted jacket. The lamp light turned her skin a gorgeous dark copper. Her face had the beauty of structure rather than simple prettiness; she would age magnificently. Ianto held out his hand.  
  
“And you're Martha of the same tribe. Come in. Jack's expecting you.”  
  
After locking the door Ianto led her through the tunnel and into the main work area of the Hub. The clang of the cog door had warned the others, and everyone within distance turned to stare at the visitor. Jack galloped down the stairs from his office, jumping off the last few steps to land in front of the newcomer.  
  
“Suddenly, in an underground mortuary, on a wet night in Cardiff, I hear the song of a nightingale.” He opened his arms. “Miss Martha Jones.”  
  
She threw herself at him. “It's so good to see you, Jack.”  
  
He hugged her tightly, then, keeping his arm around her shoulders, he turned her to face the others. “Toshiko, Gwen, Andy, this is Martha.” He looked around. “Where is Owen?”  
  
“In the lab.” Andy said. “You know how it is when he has something to work on.”  
  
“Owen!” Jack bellowed. “We have a guest.”  
  
“And you've just blown out her ear-drums,” grumbled Owen, appearing around the corner from the autopsy bay. “What is it?”  
  
“Doctor Martha Jones, may I introduce Doctor Owen Harper? Owen, Martha agreed to consult on our little problem. She has some specialized knowledge.”  
  
“So suddenly I’m not good enough?”  
  
“Jack just wanted a second set of eyes.” Martha said tartly. “Let's give it a go. You never know, Owen, you might learn something.”  
  
The two doctors studied each other through narrowed eyes. Finally, Owen nodded. “I do need someone to bounce ideas off of. You want to see what I've got?”  
  
“Lead on,” she said.   
  
She followed him towards the autopsy bay. As she was about to disappear around the wall, she looked over her shoulder and gave Jack a cheeky grin. There were a few seconds of silence and then the room exploded in laughter.  
  
“Oh, Goddess,” Gwen gasped, holding her sides. “Like two cats meeting for the first time.”  
  
“Are you sure you want to put those two together?” Andy asked Jack. “There might be pistols at dawn and dueling has been outlawed in Wales since the seventeen nineties.”  
  
“They'll be all right,” Jack waved a hand in dismissal. “Neither one can resist a medical mystery. What did you find?”  
  
“Seven unexplained deaths in the past nine months,” Andy said. “The police reports are going from bad to worse. Once actually suggests spontaneous combustion, and another wonders if there's a possibility of some sort of new curse. I've put out a few feelers.”  
  
“Good. Tosh?”  
  
“I ran the names Andy gave me through all the databases I could think of. They seemed to have nothing in common. Housewife, solicitor, bartender, businessman, author, architect, farmer. Addresses all over the place, did not have family or friends in common, didn't donate to the same charities. But,” she held up a triumphant hand, “I ran them through the NHS database.”  
  
“And you got a hit.”  
  
“Actually, I got seven hits. They were all listed as undergoing treatments for different conditions, all severe. At least three were listed as terminal.”  
  
“That's odd.” Andy said. “There's no indication in the police reports of anything pointing to a possible suicide. That's the first thing one looks for in deaths like these.”  
  
“I know.” Toshiko's hands flew over the keyboard. “So I looked a little deeper. I was able to access the medical records for two of them. Meredith Roberts had metastasized prostate cancer. Anne Baines had brain cancer. Both had been given months to live by their doctors. Anne Baines's file ends there. Mr. Roberts seems to have visited his doctor three weeks ago, after a space of eight months. The doctor found that Mr. Roberts's cancer had disappeared. No matter how much the doctor tried, Mr. Roberts would not tell him where he had been or what sort of treatment he had received.”  
  
Ianto whistled. “And three weeks later he burns down to powder.”  
  
“Can we talk to the doctors directly? There might be some willing to talk off the record. Ianto and I can…” Andy broke off as his phone rang. “Hold on… Yeah?”  
  
He listened for a while then said, “Thanks.” Returning the phone to his pocket, he said to the others, “I think we just got lucky. That was Thomas Ruthven from Cardiff Royal. You remember him, Jack?”  
  
“Sure. The guy with the weevil problem. That’s how we nabbed Gwen.”  
  
“That’s him. I’ve kept in touch on and off. He says they have a new patient, intake from Emergency last night. Iselle Macris. She’s running a massive fever, but has no other symptoms. But what attracted his attention is that she’s the healthiest person he’s ever seen, even though she shows up in their files as having an advanced case of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.”  
  
“Ianto, get Owen. Tosh, start digging.”  
  
Ianto ran to the lab and returned a few minutes later with Owen and Martha. The two of them looked worried. Owen was carrying his medical bag.  
  
“I’m going with Owen,” Martha said to Jack. “If what we think is true, he’s going to need my help.”  
  
Jack nodded and watched them leave the Hub at a dead run.   
  
“Something’s not good,” Andy muttered. “Really not good.”  
  
“Yeah,” Tosh agreed. “Listen to this. Iselle Macris was brought to hospital by two men who dumped her on the sidewalk and sped away. Black van, dark windows. Several of her neighbours reported a loud argument in her flat about an hour before.”  
  
“Address to the SUV’s GPS, please. Andy, start hitting all your contacts, and I mean all. Urgent. Where is…” A discreet throat-clearing sound made him turn around to find Ianto behind him, holding his coat. “Thank you, cariad. Gwen, with us.”  
  
He loped out of the Hub. Behind his back, Gwen mimicked driving to Ianto and pointed to him. Ianto nodded. He peeled off towards the emergency entrance to the garage. When Jack and Gwen arrived at the SUV’s parking space, he was already ensconced behind the wheel.   
  
“Not fair,” Jack pouted a little.  
  
“Damn right, not fair,” Gwen retorted. “It’s foggy out there and I’m not going to trust myself to your driving.”  
  
Jack mock-glared at her and jumped into the passenger seat. She climbed sedately into the back seat and adjusted her seatbelt. Ianto grinned at her in the rearview mirror, and smacked Jack’s hand away from the CD-player.  
  
Iselle Macris lived in the sixth floor of a new development in Churchill Way. The public spaces were one large open area with display cases serving as dividers. It was furnished sparsely, with a few very expensive pieces carefully positioned to take advantage of the view. Several large abstract canvasses hung on cream-colored flocked walls, and the display cases held a few pieces of old crystal. It reeked of money and an excellent designer. Gwen wrinkled her nose.  
  
“It looks like no one lives here,” she said. “Not a speck of dirt, not a thing out of place.”  
  
“Let’s see. Gwen, take the bedroom. Ianto, the office. I’ll look through everything else.” He turned in a big circle. “Let’s be thorough.”  
  
Jack had gone over the lounge and dining area and had started in the kitchen – amazing, the sort of things women hid in kitchens – when he heard a faint noise at the door. He turned off the light, tucked himself in the space between the fridge and the display case and waited.   
  
The door opened and two men walked in. They both wore jeans and waterproof jackets. They were definitely not professionals: one’s shoes squeaked and the other cursed loudly when the spring-loaded door slipped out of his hand and smashed into the jamb. Jack noticed Gwen coming out of the bedroom, probably attracted by the noise. He signaled to her to stay put and be quiet; she nodded and slipped back inside. Jack pulled the Webley out of its holster.   
  
“Check the fridge,” one of the men whispered. “The meds have to be kept cold, Doc says. I’ll go look for the papers.”  
  
Jack waited until the burglar was almost in front of him to turn on the light. Gun pointing directly at the man’s face, he grinned his sexiest smile. “Hello. Don’t do anything to make me nervous, all right? This thing has a hair trigger.”  
  
The man squeaked his assent. A few seconds later they heard the second burglar scream. The sound was immediately followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor. At the same time, Gwen came out of the bedroom, gun in hand. They were joined by Ianto, who was dragging the second burglar by the collar. Jack motioned towards the dining room table. Gwen pulled out a chair and Ianto threw his victim into it like a sack of potatoes. Jack used the Wembley to motion to the other man.  
  
“Join your friend.”  
  
“Look, I don’t know who you are…” The man was trying for a forceful tone, but his voice kept breaking. “But if you don't let us go...”  
  
“Torchwood,” Jack broke into the flow of panicked words and had the pleasure of seeing both men flinch. “And we don't have to do anything. I can throw you into Prescoed at his Majesty's pleasure. You'll come out when you're ninety, if I remember your names enough to sign a release.”  
  
The little speech had made the two burglars shrink down in their seats. Jack let it sink in, then moved away. Gwen slid into a chair opposite from the men.  
  
“Who do you work for?” One of the men muttered something. “Look. You're going to jail, but it can be a six month stretch for breaking and entering in the castle or Prescoed until he,” she tilted her head towards Jack, “feels like letting you out.”  
  
“He can't do that!” the mutterer said.  
  
“Yeah, he can. There's a bloke in Prescoed that got chucked in the year I was born.” The man flinched at the absolute honesty in Gwen's voice. “So, again. Who do you work for?”  
  
“Doctor Aaron Copley. That's his name. Aaron Copley.”


	2. Chapter 2

Watching Martha examine the patient, Owen had to admit she was a damn good doctor. Some of it was the face, of course: she had the kind of face that made people believe in her from the first time they met her. But she also had the craft of it down pat, and an instinctive grasp of how the whole organism was affected by disease. She was the closest thing Owen had ever encountered to a Healer in someone with absolutely no Talent..  
  
“I don't understand,” Iselle Macris said, her american accent sounding harsh in Owen's ears. “I was doing fine.”  
  
Owen sat on the side of the bed. “But you had been ill.”  
  
She shuddered. “Yes. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. In America we call it Lou Gehrig's disease.”  
  
“After the baseball player, yes.” Owen took her hand in his. “Remission is very rare.”  
  
“It's not remission!” Iselle Macris shook with rage. “I'm cured!”  
  
“How?” Martha said gently.   
  
Iselle looked at her, then looked away. “I can't tell you.”  
  
Owen's phone signal chimed quietly in his ear. He looked at Martha and touched his ear as if scratching it. She nodded. Another question answered: she was as quick on the uptake as Ianto. He got up and moved towards the window. Martha murmured something to Iselle, then pulled the privacy curtain around the bed.  
  
Owen tapped the ear piece. “Talk.”  
  
“The doctor's name is Aaron Copley,” Tosh said. “He has a clinic thirty miles outside of Cardiff in a converted manor house. He calls it The Farm. A fancy rest cure sort of place. Rich drunks and aging movie stars.”  
  
“How did he become a miracle worker?”  
  
“Still digging.”  
  
“Keep looking, love. I'll see what I can get out of Iselle Macris.”  
  
As he turned back towards the bed, Martha slid back the curtain. Their eyes met briefly. Owen got the message; Iselle Macris was losing the fight.  
  
“Iselle.” Owen waited until she looked at him. “Tell me about Doctor Copley.”  
  
He saw the recognition flare in her eyes before they slid away.   
  
“I don't know who you're talking about.”  
  
Owen returned to his perch at the side of the bed. “Iselle, there have been several cases just like yourself. People who have been very ill, suddenly recovered, and just as suddenly fell ill again. We need to find out what's going on.”  
  
“It's a miracle!” She burst out, tears running down her face. “He made a miracle for me!”  
  
Martha put her arm around Iselle's shoulders. “Iselle, you're a good Catholic, you know better than that. Whatever doctor Copley did, was not of God or from God. The Lord would not give you a miracle and then take it back.”  
  
For a moment Iselle looked as if she wanted to argue, but then she sagged into Martha's arms, weeping. Owen waited; in his experience, that sort of emotional storm didn't last long. Finally, as her sobs wound down to hiccups and sniffles, he took one of her hands in his.  
  
“Iselle, we need to know.”  
  
She nodded, raising her head from Martha's shoulder. “After I got my diagnosis I went a little crazy. I tried everything, from vitamin therapies to hedge witch potions. Nothing worked. Then I heard a rumor about a doctor that could cure anything.”  
  
“How did you find him?” Martha asked.  
  
“You don't. He finds you.” She rubbed her eyes with one fist, like a child trying to fight sleep. “I make my living doing research for corporations and law firms. It took a while, but I found his trail.You put an ad in the online adverts for any of the Welsh papers. Not the big ones, the small town papers. And then you wait for his call.”  
  
Owen stroked the hand he still held. “And when he called you?”  
  
“It felt like I had won the lottery. They gave me instructions. I was to turn all the money in my savings account into diamonds and have half of them with me when they came to pick me up...” she pushed away from Martha, suddenly shivering. “The rest was due.... I don't feel very well... when I was cured. I thought it was a good deal.... shit! That hurts!”  
  
Martha put her hand on Iselle's arm, then snatched it back. Eyes wide, she turned her palm out towards Owen. Her fingers were singed.  
  
“Oh, God, I'm burning up! I'm burning up!” Iselle stared in horror at her skin as it began to glow. “Help me!”  
  
Owen grabbed a blanket and tossed it over her, trying to smother the fire he knew was coming, but after a few minutes the blanket began to burn too. He looked around for something else to use.   
  
“Owen, move!” Martha pushed him back against the wall. “There's nothing you can do!”  
  
They watched helplessly as Iselle Macris burst into flames. Owen grabbed Martha and turned around, shielding her with his body. Alarms blared and people ran into the room but were pushed back by the smoke and heat. The sprinklers turned on, but they seemed helpless against the conflagration. Finally, to Owen's relief, Iselle's body collapsed back into the bed and the flames began to die down under the relentless curtain of water.   
  
Suddenly, Martha darted out, a sampling hypodermic in her hand, and plunged it into the still-smouldering foot. Owen admired her coolness. Putting the needle in his bag, she motioned towards the door.   
  
“We need to get back to the Hub.”  
  
He nodded and followed her out of the room, unnoticed in the madhouse in the halls as the hospital staff coped with the smoke and noise. Once outside hospital parking, Owen drove as fast as he could. Martha sat next to him, eyes closed, sunk in her own thoughts. He studied her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she had already talked to Jack. To his Healer's Sense, Martha's illness was as visible as her beauty was to his eyes.  
  
In the Hub, they followed the heavenly scent of Ianto's coffee to the conference room. The whole team was there, munching on hot buttered scones and sipping at their mugs.   
  
“Isn't it a little late for tea?” Owen asked, trying for sardonic and not quite making it.  
  
“It's four in the morning. Just a little early for breakfast.” Jack said, waving Martha to the chair next to his. “Anything new?”  
  
“Iselle Macris is dead.” Owen said, taking a huge gulp of his coffee. “Martha got a sample, but I'm sure we're going to find the same thing that with did with the others. Doctor Copley is injecting un-human genetic material into the patients. Something about it acts as a sovereign specific... yes, Andy?”  
  
“I am admittedly ignorant of medicine, but isn't a sovereign specific a cure for a particular set of diseases or symptoms? Like my mam-gu used to swear that chamomile would cure all fevers, no matter what caused them?”  
  
Martha put down her cup. “Owen and I looked over the files. The diseases Copley has been curing all have a genetic component. Whatever he is injecting is curing the cells no matter what the disease is.”  
  
“But ends up killing them,” pointed out Jack.  
  
“Yes,” she said. “And that means that the material he is using is so genetically divergent from human normal that human cells can't assimilate it.”  
  
“There can't be that many options, can there?” Gwen asked.   
  
“More than you'd think,” Owen said. “But the problem is that we can't identify it from the samples we have. We do not think it's demonic, but even there we can't be sure. We need to get our hands on the raw material he's using.”  
  
“That's not going to be easy.” As Tosh pressed a key on her portable keyboard, the holographic screen built into the glass wall of the conference room showed a satellite view of a walled compound resembling a military compound much more than a clinic. “Security is state-of-the-art. Staff is vetted back to the cradle before being hired. I can mock up a history for someone, but not in the time we have.”  
  
“And we're not exactly hard to find if someone's looking,” Ianto pointed out. “None of us could go undercover in this case.”  
  
“I can,” Martha said. “They don't know me.”  
  
“We can't wait too long,” Jack said. “Three more cases were diagnosed while you were with Miss Macris. Thankfully we were able to divert all three to the Archbishop's infirmary. The last two were sisters. Ann and Rose Williams. Ann Williams was treated by doctor Copley for triple-negative breast cancer. Rose Williams received a clean bill of health at her annual checkup less than a month ago.”  
  
Owen nearly choked on his mouthful of scone. “Contagious?”  
  
Jack nodded. “Whatever Copley is using has become aggressive. One of the nursing sisters came down with whatever it is two hours after helping Rose Williams drink some broth.”  
  
“We need to get inside that compound,” Martha said.  
  
“We don't have time for Tosh to work her magic,” Jack told her. “I've applied for a warrant from Westminster, but that won't come through until tomorrow at the earliest.”  
  
“I wouldn't be able to get in as a prospective employee, Jack,” Martha said. “But I can as a patient.”  
  
Jack studied her tired face. “Martha?”  
  
“It seems the waters of Lethe are not exactly healthy for living humans.” She touched his face gently. “The Doctor tried everything he could and all he managed was to slow down the rate of deterioration. I'm dying, Jack.”


	3. Chapter 3

Martha shivered as Ianto pressed the small metal square into the curve of her breast.   
  
“Sorry,” Ianto said. “It'll warm up with your body heat.”  
  
“Won't it pick up my heatbeat?” she asked.  
  
“It filters it out.” Ianto ran a scanner over it and nodded when the transmitter emitted a low whine. “You are now well and truly bugged.”  
  
“If Copley accepts me as a patient, it'll mean a physical exam. Tell me this thing melts or something.”  
  
Ianto grinned at her. “Or something. Now, I'm going to have to get a bit cheeky here. Nothing personal.”  
  
Closing his eyes, he placed his palm against her breast, fingers digging in lightly into the flesh. Martha felt a tingling heat spread upwards from his hand towards her shoulder and arm. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and removed his hand. She looked down and gasped to see that the transmitted had disappeared.  
  
“It's still there,” Ianto offered the robe. “A little trick Jack and I have been working on. Call it an extension of my Talent. Nobody can see it and you're the only one who can feel it.”  
  
Martha touched the spot and felt cold metal under her fingertips. “Wow.”  
  
She shrugged into the robe and waited until Ianto had finished whatever he was doing. It was a perfect opportunity to study him a bit. He was as beautiful as she remembered, but now there was a serenity about him that came, she thought, from knowing his place in the world. She had to admit that she would feel the same way if Jack Harkness's heart belonged to her.  
  
Not to mention other parts. Swallowing a giggle, she said. “Ah. Ianto. About Jack...”  
  
Amused eyes met hers. “Yes?”  
  
“I spent a few years traveling with the Doctor and I've met many of Jack's friends and quite a few of his enemies. No matter what the topic of conversation, it usually works around to _what's Jack like in bed_. So, what's Jack like in bed?” She pouted at Ianto's laugh. “Come on, humor a dying lady.”  
  
He set the scanner down and took her in his arms. “You will be all right, one way or another. Jack won't have anything else.”  
  
Now it was her turn to laugh. “There goes my poor dying lady card.”  
  
“Con artist,” he said, letting her go and pointing to a bag with the logo of one of Cardiff's most exclusive shops. “Those are your new clothes. I'll let you get dresssed.” He started up the stairs, then stopped. “Martha? Innovative. Bordering on the avant-garde.”  
  
Smiling rather smugly, he started up again. She watched until he was gone. “Wow.”  
  
Tightening the robe – he was going to have to talk to Jack about the artic conditions in the place – she picked up the clothes bag and started to rummage. First came a silk sheath in a scrumptious raspberry color, then amazing underthings in a paler shade, the perfect stockings, and high-heeled pumps that probably cost a small fortune. She looked at the maker's name inside and swallowed hard. A large fortune.  
  
She dressed quickly and went upstairs. The wolf-whistles and applause that met her entrance had her grinning like a loon. She twirled, showing off.  
  
“Do I look rich enough?”  
  
Jack offered her a jewelry box. “Not quite yet. But you will.”   
  
She opened the box. Heart-shaped diamond earrings glimmered up at her. Below the earrings there was a thin gold watch with a diamond pave face.  
  
“Jack!” she gasped. “I can't take these.”  
  
“You have to. Otherwise they won't believe you have the money or the taste for it.”  
  
She couldn't disagree with that, so she slipped the jewelry on. As she did, she began to think herself into her role. It was one of her strengths, the Doctor had said, that ability to enter into the fantasy. The con.   
  
“Papers?” she asked.  
  
Tosh handed her a Ferragamo safari bag in a leopard print. “Wallet inside with all necessary documents. Not that you needed much, but I added a few interesting details to help Doctor Copley believe your story. You are listed as a member of Torchwood Scotland, four years service.” She hesitated for a moment. “Your medical records are there too.”  
  
Martha grinned at her. “A con man I met once told me it was all in the details. Thanks, Tosh. Did you choose the clothes?”  
  
“The outerwear only. Gwen chose the undies.”  
  
Martha curled an eyebrow at the practically dressed Welshwoman. “You have hidden depths, Gwen.”  
  
“A girl always needs an advantage,” Gwen riposted. “I put some KitKats in the bag. Some tastes you never grow out of.”  
  
“Yeah. A poor girl's chocolate, even if the girl is rich now? Well done, Gwen.” She took a deep breath. “Time to go. Do I get a rental car?”  
  
“You do.” Ianto dangled the key in front of her. “Come on.”  
  
He led her up to the parking garage and to a marvelously sleek car. “God,” she said, awed, “I didn't even know you could rent a Bentley.”  
  
“You can. Off you go, Missy. And be careful. You're supposed to dance at my wedding.”  
  
She kissed his cheek. Sliding behind the wheel, she started the car and laughed at the soft purr of the engine. She waved to Ianto and drove out of the garage and into the early evening light. The GPS came on with a pre-programmed route. Martha found she wasn't surprised at all; it was exactly what she expected from Tosh. Or Ianto.  
  
It wasn't a long drive, and the GPS managed to avoid the last of the rush hour. She reached the Farm just as the shadows were darkening into night. She glided to a stop in front of the elaborate iron gates as two armed men came out of the brick gatehouse.  
  
“This is private property,” one of the men growled.  
  
“Tell Doctor Copley that Martha Jones would like to see him.”  
  
“Doctor Copley don't talk to anyone without an appointment.”  
  
She straightened up and assumed the look she had learned from the Doctor at his nastiest. “You seem to have assumed an authority I am sure you do not have. Call Doctor Copley and tell him Martha Jones from Torchwood is here to see him.”  
  
“Listen, lady, I told you...”  
  
“If you bark at me one more time I'll have you shot for carrying rabies. Let me make a prediction. If you don't call Doctor Copley right now, and he finds out I was turned away, they are going to fish you out of the Taff with large stones tied to your legs.”  
  
Something in her calm, level voice made the man jump backwards. He marched into the gatehouse. Martha rested her head back, giving the remaining guard an impression of someone very tired and frail. A few minutes later, the first guard came out of the gatehouse and waved her through the opening gates.  
  
The grounds were carefully landscaped with paths and sitting areas suitable for recovering patients. The house at the end of the drive was a gentrified version of a Welsh farmhouse with discreet wings flowing back towards the river. Large horse troughs on either side of the door overflowed with flowers. Several luxury cars were discreetly parked on a gravelled area to one side.  
  
As she stepped out of the car, the door opened and a large woman in an old-fashioned nursing sister uniform came out. “Miss Jones? Please follow me.”  
  
Copley's office occupied the first section of the left wing. She was shown to a comfortable armchair in an elegantly appointed waiting room and offered her choice of coffee or tea. Fifteen minutes later, the nurse came out of the inner office and waved her through into a large, airy room, with french doors leading out to the gardens beyond. The man himself was tall, gaunt, with receding white hair, and deep set eyes that seem to measure her as an opponent. Which, Martha supposed, was only proper.   
  
“Miss Jones.” He rose and waved her to the armchair opposite the desk. “And what does Torchwood want with me?”  
  
“Torchwood doesn't. I do.”  
  
His eyebrows rose. “May I ask why?”  
  
She pulled the thick manila envelope from her purse and tossed it to him. “I'm dying, and I very much don't want to.”  
  
He pulled the documents out, popping the CD holding the test results into his pc. Martha sat patiently while he scanned through all of it.   
  
“You have an aggressive form of cancer, Miss Jones. Unfortunately there's nothing to do medically.”  
  
Martha sighed and pulled out her Blackberry. “Fine. I will just send all my notes on the Farm and its patients to Jack Harkness. He would be interested in your research, I think.”  
  
Copley held out his hand in the classic stop gesture. Martha waited a few more seconds, then put the phone back in the bag.  
  
“You do understand,” Copley went on as if nothing untoward had happened, “that Reset is still in the experimental stage?”  
  
“Is that what you call the drug?” Martha leaned back, not disguising her tiredness. “Yes, I know. If I'm going to be dead either way I'd rather have a few more months of health and a quick if disgusting death. Besides, I'm betting you've made improvements since your last batch.”  
  
Copley nearly smirked. “Indeed we have, Miss Jones. Now, there's a matter of payment.”  
  
"I have the money. Torchwood provides many opportunities." She grinned at him. "But you can have a choice. Money.... or  the master codes to Torchwood's medical archives.”  
  
It was obvious she had rattled him. Copley nodded, swallowed, then nodded again. “Very well. Done.” He pressed a button on his desk phone and the large nurse returned. “Miss Archibald will show you to a room. Tomorrow morning early we will run some tests and begin the treatment.”  
  
“I didn't bring an overnight bag with me.”  
  
He waved the objection away. “Don't worry. We can provide anything you need. Good night, Miss Jones.”  
  
“Good night, Doctor Copley.”  
  
She followed nurse Archibald upstairs, where she was ushered into a small but beautifully decorated bedroom. The nurse politely requested her clothes size, and then left the room. Martha kicked off her shoes and relaxed, humming to herself. She assumed she was being watched, so she didn't try to do anything other than wait. Not that she could have done anything; she was so tired, she could barely keep her eyes open. She heard voices outside the room, but couldn't make out the words. She was drifting into sleep when she heard nurse Archibald return. The woman helped her undress, dropped a cotton nightgown over her head, and tucked her into bed. Martha was asleep before her head hit the pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have altered the story of Miach just a tad here and there, you purists. But this is an Alternate Universe, yes?

_“Indeed we have, Miss Jones. Now, there's a matter of payment.”_  
  
"I have the money. Torchwood provides many opportunities. But you can have a choice. Money.... or the master codes to Torchwood's medical archives.”  
  
Jack crowed in delight. “You go, Nightingale!”  
  
“She is good,” Andy said. “She sounds like a stone cold thief.”  
  
“Martha can sound pretty much like anything she wants,” Jack drank the last of his coffee. “Saved my life more than once with that trick.”  
  
“Sounds like she's going upstairs.” Gwen said. “I wonder...”  
  
A triumphant whoop stopped her. They all turned to see Owen run in, holding a vial over his head. He skidded to a stop in the middle of the room and did a little dance that had them chuckling. “The winner and still champion!”  
  
“You figured out what Reset is?” Andy asked.  
  
“Reset? Is that what it's called?” He offered it to Andy. “Took a while because it's so complex. Amazingly enough it's mostly herbs. I've identified over three hundred so far... Hey!”  
  
He stepped out of the way as Ianto and Jack moved to grab Andy before he hit the floor. Handing the vial to Gwen, he dropped to his knees next to the three men.  
  
“Let me work,” he snapped. “Tosh, get me my bag.”  
  
Gwen held the vial to her nose and sank back into her chair. “Jack, smell this.”  
  
He took the vial and brought it up to his nose. “That is not possible. Tosh,” he said to his technologist, “do me a favor and find out if doctor Copley has been in Ireland in the last three or four years.”  
  
“I don't have to look,” she said from her place in the floor next to Owen. “He used to go several times a year to visit his brother, who was an archaeologist specializing in Fomorian culture.” She paused. “The brother died two years ago, an accident at a dig site. He hasn't been back since.”  
  
Owen sat back on his heels as Tosh helped Andy to sit up. “You want to tell me what happened?”  
  
“Reset... whatever that was you were carrying... so strong it was like being hit squarely in the chest by a train.” He sniffed like a bloodhound. “I can smell it from here. What is in that thing?”  
  
“If Gwen is right, and I think she is,” Jack said thoughtfully, “Doctor Copley has gotten his hands on Miach's cure.”  
  
“On what?” Owen asked.  
  
“There's an old legend about the Tuatha. Usually the Tuatha are amused by human versions of their history, and they are more than willing to talk about them. But ask them about Miach and you'll be lucky to get away with your skin. Gwen? You want to give them your version?”  
  
She took a deep breath. “One of the Dagda's sons, Dian Cecht, was a great physician. Of his four sons and one daughter, the fourth son, Miach, wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, so Dian Cecht took his son on as an apprentice. They boy was a hard worker and very intelligent, and he grew strong in his skill, until he was a greater physician than his father ever was.” Her voice had taken on the hypnotic quality of a teacher or priestess. “Dian Cecht grew jealous of his son's abilities. It all came to disaster when Nuadu, King of the Tuatha, lost an arm in battle. Dian Cecht made him a silver arm that almost as good as his own. Nuadu was grateful, and he never told Dian Cecht that it hurt him to move it. But Miach knew, and he made another arm for Nuadu, a flesh-and-blood one that fit as if it were his own. When Dian Cecht found out, he beat his son to death.”  
  
“God preserve us,” Andy prayed into the silence.  
  
“After he had killed his son, Dian Cecht howled out his grief to the winds. His daughter Airmed came, and saw the body of her brother on the ground at her father's feet. She took the body, washed it and prepared it for burial, and summoned the Tuatha for the funeral. Seven days after the burial, Airmed went to visit Miach's grave. To her amazement, she found hundreds of flowers and herbs growing on it and around it. She heard her brother's voice in the wind around her: Collect these and dry them and mix them with elixir and they will cure all the world's ills. He instructed her on the proper method of collecting each. As Airmed worked, Dian Cecht came up to her and asked her what she was doing, and she told him. Enraged that his son would presume to be a better physician even from beyond the grave, Dian Cecht smote his daughter and scattered the flowers and herbs to the four corners of the world. And so disease stalks mankind to this day.”  
  
“Come on,” Owen scoffed. “That's just another why men get sick story. Most cultures have one.”  
  
Gwen looked at him and he shivered at the depth behind her pupils. “We don't know much about Miach's cure, but we do know it had three hundred and sixty five flowers and herbs, one for each day of the year. There's another legend that says Airmed, who became a great physician in her own right, wrote the formula on the walls of the mound raised over her brother's grave.”  
  
“But...”  
  
“Jack!” Ianto, who had been monitoring the transmitter, interrupted Owen's argument, “you need to hear this!”  
 __  
“She's who she says she is.” The woman sounded tired. _“But there's something about her illness I can't understand.”_  
  
 _“What do you mean?”_  
 __  
“I mean what I said. She is ill, that is true, but it is not a normal illness. Whatever caused it,” she paused, then went on, sounding surprised, _“is not natural. Her blood has been changed into something much different.”_  
  
 _“Interesting.”_ Doctor Copley hummed tonelessly for a while. _“It might be useful to study her. Tomorrow, we'll prep her for surgery normally, but she just won't wake up. Allen says she told everyone in Glasgow she was going to visit her mother in London. Harkness doesn't know she's here.”_  
  
Jack closed his eyes. When he opened them they were colder than the deepest pit of hell. “Tosh, I need you to override the security in that place.”  
  
She put a hand on his arm. “I have an idea. But I'll have to go with you.”  
  
“Come on, then. Gwen, Andy, I want those warrants now. I don't care how you do it.”  
  
They leaped towards their desks. The others fell into place behind Jack. None of them remembered ever seeing him so angry and even though they trusted him to hell and back none wanted those eyes turned on them. As they got into the SUV they fastened both the lap and the shoulder belts. Tosh popped open her laptop and started working; Owen and Ianto fixed their eyes on the road and prayed.  
  
Forty-five insane minutes later, Tosh barked “Stop!”  
  
Jack stomped on the brakes, making the car skid briefly. Tosh jumped out and ran into a large stand of old growth oak and ash. The three men followed her, stumbling where she moved easily. When they caught up with her, she was standing in the middle of a tiny glade where wild violets grew in profusion. They stopped in the shadow of the trees, somehow knowing they could not follow.  
  
Tosh sank gracefully to the ground and waited. A few minutes later, they saw small reddish bodies streak out of the forest until the glade was teeming with them. They flowed into her lap and ran up her arms. She stroked and petted, still waiting. And then the women came, tall and willowy, with long red hair tumbling down to their heels. Their faces were sharply triangular, dominated by large eyes that glowed gold. They sank to the ground in a circle around Tosh, and they spoke without words for long minutes. Then Tosh stood up and walked towards the place where they stood, lost in the enchantment. One of the women called something out and Tosh laughed and shook her head.  
  
“What did she say?” Owen asked.  
  
“She said I was greedy for not sharing.” At his befuddled look, she laughed. “My harem.” She turned to Jack. “In about fifteen minutes the Farm perimeter is going to be overrun by foxes. We'll have a short window of opportunity to get in.”  
  
They ran back to the SUV and drove on. The road skirted the side of the mountain and they could see the farmhouses in the valley below. Soon the Farm's buildings came into view, partially hidden by the high stone fence. The place was more of a manor house than a farm, but none of them were interested in architecture at the moment. Jack stopped under an overhang created by some trees growing down from a rock shelf.  
  
“Soon now,” Tosh whispered.  
  
She was right. A few minutes later the place erupted in chaos. The fox army crashed into the iron gates, shrieking eerily at the top of their voices. Sensors went off. The men inside the gatehouse ran out to find their ankles and calves under assault by sharp teeth. To their screams and the foxes' shrieks were added the howls of the guard dogs as they fought their leashes in order to chase the enemy. One of the guards got tangled against the gate as the two dogs he was holding tried to push their bodies through the narrow space between the two gates. Their necks trapped, their howls became panicked whines. A second guard screamed at someone inside the gatehouse, gesturing towards the choking dogs. The gates began to swing open.  
  
Jack released the brake and the SUV jumped forward. They held on for dear life as it gained speed on the downhill curve. The sound of the engine attracted the attention of one of the men; perhaps better trained or more experienced, he immediately let go of the leashes he was holding and brought his Kalashnikov up in a wide arc, but before he could shoot he was toppled and buried under an avalanche of foxes as the little ones reversed course and streamed back into the forest. The SUV charged through the half-opened gate, metal crumbling under the impact. Jack kept it moving in a straight line, mowing down exquisite flowerbeds until it came to a stop in front of the house's front door.  
  
Even before the SUV had fully stopped, Ianto was on the move. Keeping low, he melted into the shadows. Owen counted slowly to five and then eased himself out of his seat and onto the ground. Behind him he could hear Jack and Tosh's guns as they picked off the few guards brave enough to try to charge up the open lawn. He crawled up the three shallow steps until he reached the security plate. Tosh had been right; it was state of the art; there was no way he could do anything about it. He reversed his grip and smashed the butt of his gun against it. There was a sound of frying wires and he heard the snick of a lock being drawn back. He threw himself through the door, rolling, and came up gun at the ready.  
  
The place seemed empty. He made a quick circuit of the rooms and found nobody, not even a char lady. By the time he came back to the entry hall, Tosh and Jack were inside. He shook his head.  
  
“We need to look upstairs,” Tosh said. “That's where they took...”  
  
“Jack?” Ianto's voice sounded strained. “You need to get here.”  
  
Jack ran and they followed, no longer surprised that Jack always knew where Ianto was, and viceversa. They went out into a three-sided courtyard. Two long rows of hospital rooms opening into colonnades faced each other across a a formal garden with a fountain in the center. At the far end a separate building closed the square. Owen thought he heard music coming from it, bagpipes and harps, maybe, but when he tried to listen the sound blended into the wind and was gone.  
  
Ianto was standing in the shadows at the end of the colonnade. “I saw a woman in a nurse's uniform take Martha in there. Jack, there's something...” he struggled to find the words, “really wrong inside that building. Can you...”  
  
“Yes, I can feel it,” Jack put one arm around Ianto's shoulders and pulled him close. Owen did the same to Tosh, and his free hand gripped Jack's. The energy swirled around them for a moment, then Jack stepped back. “Let's go.”  
  
Jack didn't bother with subtlety. One hard kick sent the foor flying off the hinges. Owen moved in, making sure Tosh was behind him. The only light in the place came from the reading lamp on the worktable positioned near the fireplace at the far end. Owen could see Martha standing by the fireplace holding a gun while the other woman sprawled gracelessly in the only chair.  
  
“Didn't need a rescue, did you, Nightingale?”  
  
“Do I ever?” Martha held her pose for a moment then gave a little cry and ran into Jack's arms. “Oh, God, oh God, Jack.”  
  
“What's wrong, Martha?”  
  
The lights came on before she could answer. Owen blinked rapidly to adjust his sight, and then started to turn in a circle, automatically cataloging the equipment as he went., but Tosh's little bleat of distress made him whip around and look in her direction. For the first time in his life Owen thanked whatever gods had blessed or cursed him with the inability to vomit. Tosh was standing next to a tall, narrow tank filled with fluids that swirled and shimmered in rythmic patterns. Tubes ran in and out at different levels. Suspended in the tank was a man... no, Owen realized after a closer look, a Tuatha. As Owen moved close enough to lay his hand on the glass, its eyes opened.  
  
It was alive.  
  
“Get away from there.” Copley stood at the door, gun in hand. “Everyone back.” At Jack's nod, everyone retreated. “Good, that's good. You didn't think I was going to let you take it. It is mine. Mine! I killed my brother for it. Do you think I would let it go?”  
  
“I don't think you have a choice, Copley,” Jack said. “The closest you'll come to a lab from now on will be with a broom and mop.”  
  
Copley howled in rage. He whirled, shooting wildly in the direction of the tank. The glass shattered and hoses flew in every direction. Owen watched as the Tuatha began to topple out. He reacted instinctively, running back towards the tank, ignoring Jack's shout, opening his arms to catch the body as it fell. The impact knocked him down, and he put his arms around it to keep it from rolling.  
  
Owen's mouth opened in a soundless scream as the felt the touch of the Tuatha's mind on his. It was both violation and recognition, a glimpse into the abyss and a homecoming. Then he felt his body's cells begin to dissolve and re-form, _burning, burning_ , and he closed his eyes, surrendering to the agony.


	5. Chapter 5

“How is he?”  
  
Martha's eyes flickered towards Toshiko, who dozed in a comfortable armchair next to Owen's bed. “Stable. All his vital signs are good.” She took Jack's arm and pulled him up the stairs. “Jack, did we see what I thought we did?”  
  
“Oh, yeah.” Jack ran one hand through his hair. “I have never even heard of it being possible, much less seen it. But it might not have been unexpected to others.”  
  
“I don't understand.”  
  
“Right before you came, Owen met up with the Dagda. The old man called him grandson.”  
  
Martha opened her mouth to say something then obviously thought better of it. Her eyes got that faraway look that Jack had learned meant she was adding two and two and getting five hundred and it would be the right answer anyway. Finally, she nodded.  
  
“Makes sense.”  
  
“Martha,” he said slowly, as if speaking to someone with rudimentary English skills, “we watched two beings, one human and one not, melt into each other. One minute there was Owen and a Thuatha de Danann and then there was Owen, in a coma and looking like he'd been hit by the London to Cardiff express. Could you explain how that makes sense?”  
  
“Toshiko collected samples of the liquid in the tank. I hope you value her, Jack. In spite of being terrified about Owen she managed to figure out what we would need. And she's held it together enough to help me run the tests.”  
  
Jack smiled for the first time in days. “She's something, my aijin. What did you two find?”  
  
“The liquid was some sort of amniotic fluid, but something had been added to it, something I'd never seen before. Then Tosh had the idea of asking Gwen to show it to her godmother.” She chuckled. “It seems that the reproductive processes of the Fair Ones are considered secret. Gwen had to promise the old lady another godchild before she would consent to discuss it. But discuss it she did, in the end.”  
  
“What did she say?”  
  
“It seems Fair Folk embryos are partly what we could call magickal, and therefore only partially flesh-and-blood. Like with most thing magickal, it is attracted to humans. When the Tuatha fell out of the tank, his magick latched on the first human solid thing it found.”  
  
Jack gawped like a hooked trout. “But the Tuatha was a full-grown adult!”  
  
Martha shook her head. “That's where the ingredient we couldn't identify comes in. Because of the fluid condition of the embryo, the physical and the magickal parts can be forced to grow separately. According to Gwen's godmother it's only done in great emergencies. She can only remember it being done twice in her lifetime, and each time it was used to grow the magickal side. In this case, the physical body had been forced to adulthood but the magickal remained at the totally instinctual level.”  
  
“I think,” Jack said softly, “that I am going to have a very long conversation with Doctor Copley.”  
  
“No.” Martha's flat denial made Jack jump. “Tosh and I will take care of it.”  
  
“Martha!”  
  
She grinned at him. “Don't sound so shocked, Jack. Tosh is the best for it because she will happily disassemble Copley if it would bring Owen back safe, and he’ll know it. When she threatens him, he will not be able to make himself believe she's bluffing. Besides, according to Gwen's background checks, Copley has ego issues with women. I will make sure to grind in the fact that the head of Torchwood thinks so little of him that he left two women in charge.” This time the grin was so feral that Jack took an involuntary step back. “He'll talk. Now, you grab your fiance and go home. Neither one of you have slept for three days.”  
  
“Four, but who’s counting?” Jack saluted jauntily and then grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you.”  
  
He ran through the Hub, waving at Gwen and Andy as he went. They were holding down the fort while Martha and Tosh concentrated on Owen and he and Ianto tried to unsnarl the mess Copley had created. They had tracked down all the patients listed in the files; most of them had already started to show symptoms and had been taken to the Bishop’s infirmary. But it had turned out that Reset was not the only product Copley had been making from the genetic material he harvested from the Tuatha. He had sent samples of a topical ointment for severe burns to several colleagues, and they had used them on clinical trials. Every jar of ointment had to be collected, doctors and patients interviewed, and computers and filing cabinets confiscated. Now that they had everything stowed away in the most secure of Torchwood’s secure vaults, they could afford to relax a little.  
  
He found Ianto exactly where he had left him, dozing in his favorite bench facing the bay. It was a cool day, but it was sunny and there no wind. Jack stopped for a moment to indulge his favorite pastime: watching Ianto sleep. Over the past two years he had cataloged every variant. There was the light doze, usually lying down in front of the fire, sometimes accompanied by humming, or snatches of poetry; the nightmare-ridden deep trance, when sheets and pillows went flying and ended with Ianto wrapped in Jack’s arms, whimpering in his sleep, while Jack sang a lullaby in his ear; the sweet exhaustion after sex, body pliant, eyes drifting slowly shut into dreamless sleep. This one was a surrender to exhaustion that stripped Ianto of his defenses and left him looking ridiculously young. If Jack let him he would sleep for hours sprawled on that hard bench and wake up with a crick on his neck and a sore arse.  
  
“Hey,” he whispered in Ianto’s ear, “wake up.”  
  
The lids lifted slowly. “Do I have to?”  
  
The soft drawl gave Jack shivers. “Uh-uh. I’m under orders to take you home and put you to bed.”  
  
“Only if you get in with me.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
They walked to their place, hand-in-hand. It wasn’t a short walk, but not a long one either, and it felt nice to let the world flow past them. Since neither wanted to cook, they stopped briefly to buy some French bread, two pears and a big wedge of Llanboidy at Ianto’s favorite specialty foods store. As they left the store, the first few drops from an errant storm cloud landed on their heads. Laughing, they ran the rest of the way, waving to the doorman as they sprinted into the elevator.   
  
As soon as the doors of the elevator snapped shut, Ianto started stripping off his clothes. He was down to his trousers and boots when the doors slid open and Mrs. Carmody, their neighbor three floors below, stepped in. Jack nearly cracked a rib trying to hold the laughter in as Ianto blushed all the way down to his belt buckle.  
  
“Ah.... raining.... got wet....”  
  
Mrs. Carmody, eighty-five if she was a day, winked at Jack. “That's what you youngsters are calling it these days, it it?”  
  
Jack took her hand and kissed it. “You must have gotten quite soaked in your day, beautiful lady. Going to visit Mrs. Thomas?”  
  
“Yes, she's not feeling well, poor thing.” As the elevator stopped, she tapped Ianto on the cheek. “I would tell you to be careful, but I wouldn't have been and I don't want to be a hypocrite.”  
  
She swanned off. Jack howled as Ianto bounced his head on the woven leather and metal padding of the elevator wall, muttering to himself in incoherent Welsh. When they reached their floor Ianto sprinted to their door, opened it as fast as he could and slipped inside, nearly slamming it on Jack's nose. Still laughing, Jack waved him towards their bedroom.  
  
“Why don't you get into bed? I'll just put these away and join you in a minute.”  
  
“Shower first.” Ianto sniffed his armpits. “Definitely shower first.”  
  
Jack put the pears and the cheese in the refrigerator, then grabbed his and Ianto’s coats and hung them in the entry closet. Boots followed. Even though he knew Ianto's Dark Sense would have warned him of any intruders, he did a quick run through the flat, testing the protective wards; everything was as it should be.   
  
One quick whiff at his own armpits, and he headed for the bathroom, taking his clothes off as he went and tossing them in every direction. He would pay for it the next day if Ianto got out of bed before he did, but he was willing to take the chance.   
  
The bathroom was wreathed in steam. Jack winced. Ianto sometimes liked the water hot enough to strip off the top layer of skin. Still, it was a fair exchange for the sight of a gorgeous naked man. His gorgeous naked man.   
  
He opened the shower door and was immediately enveloped in a burst of heat. Through the steam he could see Ianto bent over, soaping his toes. God, but the man had a great arse. And, he realized a minute later, it was being displayed on purpose; the sneaky sod had known the moment Jack had walked in and had arranged the show. He reached out and caressed the soft, firm muscles with his fingertips, then, just when he felt a shiver run through Ianto's body, he slapped him hard.  
  
“Ow!” Ianto straightened up, rubbing the offended spot.  
  
“Tease,” Jack growled, crowding Ianto against the shower wall. “Waving that gorgeous arse in my face like that.”  
  
“No such thing,” Ianto said, aiming for innocent but so wide of the target he couldn't find it with both hands at high noon. “I was minding my own business...”  
  
“Liar.” Jack's palm connected with Ianto's buttock again. “Spread your legs and brace yourself against the wall.”   
  
Ianto shook his head. “No.”  
  
Another smack. “Now.”  
  
Slowly, as if reluctant, Ianto assumed the position. Jack braced his hands on either side of Ianto's and pressed in until he was firmly wedged between Ianto's arse cheeks. He felt a familiar coolness on his cock. A few strokes and he was sure; Ianto had prepared himself in advance.  
  
“Spread yourself for me.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Two hard slaps. “Now.”  
  
Ianto opened his legs a little wider and tilted his hips. Jack guided himself to his opening and pushed steadily until he was as deep as he could be. Ianto moaned and pushed back, trying to take in more. Jack gripped Ianto's hips and began to move, hard and fast, making their bodies slam together. Ianto's moans became gasps, and Jack knew he was close. He wrapped one arm around Ianto to grip his cock and began to jerk him off, matching his own movements in Ianto's arse. One, two, three strokes and Ianto reared back, screaming, and the sound set off Jack's own orgasm, blinding pleasure racing up his spine to explode at the base of his skull. He collapsed against Ianto, gasping for air, and laughing.  
  
“What's so funny?”  
  
He nipped at Ianto's earlobe. “I was thinking we're going to sleep really well tonight.”


End file.
